


The Seven O'Clock Special

by Delphi



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Law Enforcement, M/M, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-16
Updated: 2005-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josiah Sanchez, alone in a new city, spots a familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seven O'Clock Special

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for _The Third Kind_, an Ezra-centric anthology.

_Hello, Denver_.

7:04 a.m. saw Josiah Sanchez running full-tilt behind a city bus, briefcase in hand and a prayer on his lips. His new shoes slapped madly on the pavement as he fought to keep pace with the early morning traffic, and his lucky tie streamed out behind him, whapping him in the back of the head every time he even thought of slowing down.

A small girl of six or seven popped into view in the back window. She peered down at Josiah, one finger firmly lodged in her nose. He waved to her frantically, hoping to somehow convey in one flailing gesture the need for the driver to please, for the love of God, stop the bus.

The little girl thoughtfully put her finger in her mouth. Smiled. Waved back.

Josiah groaned. He desperately scanned the street for the next stop but saw none. There was, however, a traffic light up ahead that had been a stale green for at least the last half a block. He sent a brief plea heavenward. He just needed one lucky break today, just one.

_Come on, yellow..._

The crosswalk began to flash _Don't Walk_ as the bus neared the intersection. Josiah held his breath.

_Yellow, yellow, yellow,_ he willed with all his might.

Then he broke out in a grin as the light obligingly blinked from green to amber. The vehicles in front of the bus began to brake. The bus rolled to a gentle stop.

_Thank you, Lord._

He slowed to a jog as he caught up to the bus, and then he hammered on the double doors until they slid open with a pneumatic hiss. The driver glanced at him as he bounded up the steps, taking in his disheveled appearance with neither apology nor interest, then pointed to a metal placard above the window: _The driver is not authorized to change scheduled stops. _

"Mighty kind of you," Josiah muttered, dropping too much change into the slot before collapsing into the nearest seat.

He stretched his legs out into the aisle with an audible snap-crackle-pop from his knees. He settled his briefcase next to him and leaned his head against the window, feeling the bus start up a few moments later. The chill of the glass was a blessed relief against his pounding left temple. It might have been fifteen years since he'd had a first day on the job, but he still should have known that hitting a bar the night before wasn't the best of ideas. He'd ended up crawling back to his new apartment sometime after two a.m. and passing out on his couch amidst a sea of half-unpacked boxes, his alarm clock at the bottom of one of them. Overslept. Woken up to a wildcat taxi strike and only his new next-door-neighbor's word that the seven o'clock special would take him straight to the government block downtown.

Not the most auspicious way to begin his new life at the Denver ATF Field Office. This was exactly the sort of thing he'd meant to leave behind in New York—the drinking and the late nights, along with the kinds of cases that followed him home and set up camp in his nightmares. A change of scenery. That's what he needed, and that's what Denver could be if he just let it. The air even tasted different out here, cleaner and cooler. The window behind him was open, and the fresh breeze was already doing more to clear his head than the two cups of black coffee that had passed for breakfast.

He glanced around the bus, taking in the faces of his fellow travelers. The seats were half-empty. Or half-full, he reminded himself with a rueful smile. A decidedly different sort of crowd than the one that cropped up on the New York subway. Everybody seemed headed somewhere: a nurse in scrubs, a group of college students, and in the very back, a handful of children in school uniforms, among them the girl with the wayward finger. It was a heartening sight, one that Josiah thought he could get used to.

And speaking of heartening sights...

Josiah ducked his head slightly, smiling to himself. There was a boy across the aisle in one of the forward-facing seats. Handsome. Sitting alone.

And, Josiah mused after a moment, very familiar. He was usually good with faces, but he couldn't quite place this one. Did he know him? He stole another glance out of the corner of his eye. And then another. And then another one that lingered.

The boy was gazing out the window, oblivious, and not really a boy at all now that Josiah had got a better look at him. It was a little unsettling to realize he was getting to that age where all young men under thirty appeared at first glance to be boys. This one was maybe twenty-seven, twenty-eight; his face was unlined, but there was a certain maturity there. He was dressed rather expensively to be riding the bus, but he sat at ease in the stiff little plastic seat.

Josiah turned his head, pretending to look out the front window, but couldn't keep his gaze from creeping back a minute later. The young man had a nice face. Smooth skin. Chestnut hair tousling just a little in the breeze. He was well-built, probably a bit under six feet. His olive suit wasn't anything Josiah would find on the rack in the stores he shopped at, and the tie and shoes didn't look any cheaper. An emerald glinted in a gold tie clip, too understated to be anything but real.

One thing was for sure—nobody like this had ever ridden in Josiah's subway car back in New York.

The young man turned away from the window and, as he opened up his briefcase, looked in Josiah's direction for an instant. That feeling of déjà vu**** increased. Green eyes, brighter than the suit and deeper than the emerald. A plain nose and a nice mouth. His skin was very lightly tanned, fresh out of summer. Black Irish, maybe, or Dutch.

He kept on staring and pretending not to until those green eyes flickered towards him again, and then he quickly turned, worried that he'd been caught out. He was getting sloppy. He looked out the window at nothing, then closed his eyes. The image of the young man's face remained fixed in his mind like a photograph.

What was his name? Josiah liked to be on a first-name basis with his flights of fancy, and nothing common would do for this one. A biblical name, maybe, but not Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. A family name. An angel's name, or a saint's.

He caught a glint of gold. The young man's briefcase was monogrammed: EPS.

Edward? Eric?

He shook his head slightly. No, nothing as pedestrian as that.

The details were fading from his mind. He'd have to sneak another peek. This time he kept on facing straight ahead and let his gaze slide sideways. He could just see the young man out of the corner of his eye; he was reading a paperback now, holding it in his lap, his head bent forward.

It seemed safe for Josiah to gaze his fill, so he did, careful to glance away every so often. Mustn't look as if he were cruising. He examined the young man's hands. No rings. If he was straight, he wasn't married.

Josiah looked at those lips.

If he was straight, he amended, it would be an injustice on a cosmic scale.

The young man swiveled his head suddenly, and for a moment Josiah thought his attention had been detected. But the swivel only turned into a slow, pendulous movement, and the young man reached one hand back to rub his neck. Just a crick.

Josiah decided at that moment that the young man was an Ezra.

Ezra looked up at him.

_Uh-oh._

But before Josiah could turn away again, the young man only smiled. A small smile. And just as quickly as he'd looked up, he'd returned to his book.

Josiah again turned toward the window, losing himself in the unfamiliar streets. His heartbeat picked up a little, as it had when he'd been in pursuit of the bus.

_Nice smile_, he thought, and then he paused. But had it been aimed at him? It might have only been a reflex. Or he might have been looking at someone else, someone the young man actually knew.

Josiah looked around. There was no one for several seats around. The nearest person was a woman around his own age, gym bag on her lap and a blank look on her face.

He thought again of Ezra's face. His quick smile had made him even more appealing. The hint of white teeth and that slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. The arch of an eyebrow. Or had he only imagined that?

Of course, thinking about that mouth led to other, idly inappropriate thoughts—such as what it would be like to kiss him. Just softly at first, like you did when you kissed someone for the very first time. Gentle, careful, coaxing Ezra's lips apart and then tentatively touching his tongue. He imagined fitting his hand to Ezra's neck and feeling him swallow. Opening his eyes mid-kiss to see Ezra's lashes fluttering. He imagined his cheek against Ezra's cheek—soft, warm, smooth—and imagined biting the crook of his neck and all but tasting his shiver...

The bus rolled to a stop at a plaza, and Josiah was jolted out of his fantasy. He quickly looked across the aisle.

_Please don't let this be his stop._ Just when he was getting himself in a better mood.

The door opened, but Ezra made no sign of getting up. Josiah muffled a little sigh of relief.

_Thanks again._

A handful of people got off the bus, and a few more got on.

_Don't sit next to him_, Josiah willed, mentally herding the new passengers to the back of the bus.

They seemed to oblige. Ezra kept reading. Josiah feigned interest in the new commuters until he felt safe returning his attention across the aisle.

The doors closed, and the bus lurched back to life. Josiah wondered what Ezra did for a living. He couldn't see the cover of the book he was reading, but it was thick. Maybe he taught at a college. Too well-dressed though, so probably not. His briefcase looked expensive but well-used. He didn't seem the type to take the bus every day. Maybe he was on a business trip and inconvenienced by the taxi strike. Maybe his car was in the shop, or maybe he was new to the city too.

Josiah decided that he liked that last one best. It gave them something in common. He wished he could know for certain, but this wasn't an interrogation room and Ezra wasn't a suspect. He likely wasn't even an Ezra.

Now, the next best thing to an interrogation was, of course, a first date. The notion of going out on a date with a man like that made him smile ruefully. A movie, maybe? No, not a movie. Movies made bad dates and even worse first dates. No opportunity to talk, to find out about each other, to look at each other. Out to dinner, then. Somewhere nice but not too fancy. A little booth with plenty of opportunities to brush hands and bump knees.

Josiah's first real date outside of clumsy high school courting had been to a little Thai restaurant in San Fancisco. With Michael, of course. It was hard to believe that twenty years had passed since they'd gone their separate ways, and that was a whole other kettle of fish right there. His first love, his only real relationship. They'd met in college, when they were young and passionate and, once upon a time, Josiah had been shy in and out of bed, but Michael soon took care of that. Michael had never bothered to grow inhibitions. But they'd gotten serious too soon, too young, too naive to know how to deal with what the rest of the world would make of them. Two years after moving in together, Josiah had taken off for Tibet, and about a year after that he'd wound up in Bangkok and discovered that Thai food didn't taste at all like he thought it did.

He hadn't had real Thai food in a while. If he was truthful, he hadn't had sex in even longer. He tried to tally up the last year—once with Lily from work, and God, hadn't that been a mistake. Who else? A woman he'd met in a bar on a Friday in May. A one-night stand as it turned out, though Josiah hadn't exactly meant it to be.

Was that really it? He prodded the notion a bit incredulously. Work had been demanding, but had he really spent three hundred and sixty-three nights alone?

He looked back towards Ezra, a little perturbed that he'd allowed his thoughts to wander. _Ezra_, he thought. _Ezra, Ezra, Ezra—where do I know you from?_

He opted for the pleasant distraction of daydreaming about stripping Ezra down and taking him to bed. He thought briefly of Lily and decided she would approve of him having inappropriate thoughts on public transit, though she would roll her eyes at him for not making a pass, let alone not saying hello. Lily didn't believe in leagues. He could just imagine what she would make of this one, and the thought of it was nearly enough to make even him blush. He scaled it back, his imagination retreating to the border between romantic and raw.

It had taken him years of unlearning to realize that there was no sin in sex, and a good bit longer than that to figure out that it could still make you sick to the soul if it didn't mean anything. When he took somebody to his bed these days, he wanted them there in the morning, simple as that. But he was a pragmatist. He had a wild side, and he was a hard man to live with, and sometimes he had to take whatever someone was willing to give him. These past few years, it seemed to him as though the best sex took place inside his own head. You couldn't really know someone, New York had taught him, unless you invented them wholecloth.

They pulled into the next stop. An equal number of people got off as got on, and the bus idled for a long while as commuters crowded on and shuffled towards the empty seats. Ezra remained absorbed in his book, and Josiah remained absorbed in Ezra.

He dimly noted the bus starting up again, picking up speed as they swept through a run of green lights. The movement was soothing—a dull, growling hum—and Josiah closed his eyes, a certain face superimposed on the inside of his eyelids. He pictured the two of them at his new apartment, sitting together on the battered couch. He'd have his arm around Ezra, feeling the glow brought on by good wine. He'd kiss him. Slowly, longingly. Feel the warmth of Ezra's breath against his cheek. He imagined Ezra half in his lap, sprawling. He would tip Ezra's head right back against his shoulder, and loosen his collar, and lovingly kiss his neck. Lick. Bite.

His palms began to sweat as he imagined pulling Ezra's shirt out from his pants and slipping his hand underneath to stroke his bare chest. He could almost feel the warmth of his skin, the smoothness of it. He thought about tracing the outline of Ezra's lips with the fingers of his other hand, then slowly pushing them inside his mouth. And Ezra would sigh as he ran his tongue around Josiah's fingers. Moan as he sucked them.

And then...then he would pull Ezra even closer and trail one hand down his stomach, slowly slithering into his pants, beneath his underwear, feeling the soft brush of curls and lingering a moment there before slipping down even further. He'd squeeze just gently, and turn Ezra's face towards his, replacing his fingers with his tongue, and Ezra would press up against him, hand gripping his leg...

He stopped, suddenly remembering where he was. He pulled his briefcase onto his lap and caught Ezra looking at him again, just for a moment, before turning his eyes back to his book.

Josiah opened his briefcase and riffled through it for show. Copies of his transfer papers, diplomas, firearm qualification. It didn't look as if he'd forgotten anything, and even if he had, it was too late to go back.

He closed the briefcase. He couldn't focus on work anyway, not with Ezra just a few feet away. He looked over again, wondering just why he was so attracted. It had to be something more than lust, more than just an appreciative eye. Hell, he had lustful fantasies all the time. No harm in that. New York had been full of handsome men. This felt different.

Maybe, he considered, he was just getting older. Getting lonely. Maybe the prospect of living in an apartment even emptier than his old one had him itching for someone to settle down with. He felt another flutter of déjà vu, and it made him pause. The young man certainly didn't remind him of Michael, or even of Lily, or anyone else that Josiah could remember ever being in love with.

_Talk to him. What are you waiting for? Give him a smile and this time don't look away when he looks back._

Easier in thought than deed.

The bus made a left, and Josiah realized that the streets were starting to look familiar. He recognized that plaza with the KFC and the laundromat as being a few blocks away from where he was headed. He should have said something. He should have smiled. Ezra was leaning back, holding his book a little higher while he read. It was still too low for Josiah to see the cover, and he craned his neck to try to make out the title.

Ezra looked up at him. Josiah smiled, just a little smile, and tried not to look startled at being caught out again. He really was slipping. Ezra held the book up for him to see. Louis L'Amour—one that Josiah had read as a teenager.

"Guilty pleasure," the young man said, smiling. He had a faint southern accent, but one that Josiah couldn't place from two words.

"The best ones are," Josiah found himself saying, and then he floundered for a follow-up. "That's been out of print a while, hasn't it?"

"It has. I've managed to track down most of the series, though."

Georgia. He'd put money on it. Not too heavy and utterly charming.

"Figure out who's getting the girl yet?" Josiah leaned out into the aisle with his elbows on his knees.

"I think so. Don't tell me, though," Ezra said, giving Josiah a conspiratorial wink.

He wanted to say something else but couldn't form any words. He knew he was thinking too much and ought to just be friendly, for better or worse. But he didn't want to say something banal and everything else on the tip of his tongue was pure craziness (_I know you—I know I know you_). He was paralyzed, and the moment was slipping away...

Fading...

Gone.

Ezra turned back to his book, and it looked to Josiah like he sighed a little. That, of course, got his fancy up and running again. If he wasn't going to work up the courage to talk to him, he could at least enjoy the fantasy.

He replayed that sigh in his head, the way Ezra's mouth sort of pouted when he did it. Very nice, lots of possibilities there, but he put them aside. It suddenly seemed a touch disrespectful to imagine his dick in Ezra's mouth now that he'd actually spoken to him. But that voice was still fair game, wasn't it?

_Guilty pleasure..._

The words echoed low and sultry in his memory, and he idly wondered if Ezra was noisy in bed. For some reason, he thought not. He usually liked his partners to let loose, but he just couldn't imagine Ezra's cool voice raising hell. He bet it could warm up, though. Hot little whispers, catching and breaking like plucked threads. He could picture Ezra biting down on his lip, trying to keep all that wantonness inside and looking all the more shameless for it. A way of choking off his moans of pleasure, because they had to be quiet, couldn't be found out...

Josiah paused, frowning, and shook his head a little. Now where had that come from?

For a moment, it had seemed so clear in his mind: the warmth of a dark little room, afternoon sunlight peeking in around the edges of heavy curtains. Lying half on top of Ezra in a rickety bed, and Ezra biting his lip and holding his hand over Josiah's mouth as they moved together.

Rather than giving him an illicit thrill, he found that the scene left him with a lingering sadness. Regret, maybe, and the feeling was so keen in him that he blurted out, "Have you ever been to New York?"

Ezra glanced up quickly, looking uncertain for a moment as to whether the question had been directed at him. He laid his book aside. "Once or twice. Why?"

Though the tone of his voice was casual, there was a guarded edge to his eyes, and for the first time Josiah worried about just where he might have met him. He would remember arresting somebody like Ezra, wouldn't he? He was certain he would.

He shrugged. "I was thinking you look familiar. I'm fresh out of the city—wondered if our paths might have crossed there."

Relief flickered in Ezra's eyes, and not the just-dodged-the-bullet kind that might have masked guilt. It was the sort of relief that shows up on a man's face when he realizes he's not crazy after all. "You're new in town?"

"Yep. First day on the job."

Ezra smiled faintly. "Mine too. Let's see—my last few trips to New York were on business," he mused. "I'm certain I would remember if I'd made your acquaintance there. And yet..." He frowned. "Have you ever been out west? Phoenix, maybe?"

That seemed to stir something in Josiah's memory. He could almost picture Ezra out in the blinding sun that hung over that kind of country. But whatever he'd been thinking was lost when Ezra picked up his things and crossed the aisle to sit down beside him, close enough that Josiah could have reached over and touched him. Or kissed him.

He shook his head, trying to remember what he was supposed to say. Phoenix. Right. He could almost feel his cheeks color when he admitted, "A long time ago. You would have been just a boy." Good Lord, how old did it make him feel to say that. "San Francisco?"

Ezra shook his head. "Atlanta?"

"Nope."

"Huh."

Josiah shrugged. "I don't suppose you've ever been to Bangkok."

Ezra raised one eyebrow, searching Josiah's face as though trying to figure out if he was joking. "Can't say I've had the pleasure."

Josiah felt the corners of his mouth lifting, in the way they did when he suspected he just might manage to say something suave or clever after all. He stuck out his hand. "Neither have I...yet. Josiah Sanchez."

Ezra's hand was just like he'd imagined it, warm and dry and soft. A strong grip. "Josiah," he murmured, and it sounded as though he were tasting it. "Charmed. Ezra Standish, at your service. My card?"

A crisp business card fell into the palm of Josiah's hand, seemingly from somewhere up Ezra's sleeve.

_Ezra_, he thought, pleased, and not nearly as stunned as he should have been. He really did look like an Ezra. _At your service_, his old dog of a mind couldn't help but echo. He found himself looking into Ezra's eyes—Lord, what a color—and Ezra looked back at him with a faint, almost puzzled smile.

The bus suddenly ground to a halt, and Ezra stumbled forward toward him. His hand was on Ezra's arm in an instant, steadying him, holding on tight. A flush of heat moved through him at the contact. Ezra's upper arm was hard, tense. He was built underneath that fancy suit, and the thought of it made Josiah hungry to feel the rest of him.

"I think this is my stop," Ezra said quietly, pulling out of Josiah's grasp with...was that reluctance?

He stood up, and Josiah stood up with him.

"Are you getting off here, too?" Ezra asked.

_Oh, yes._

He nodded.

Ezra grinned, and it was a beautiful sight. "A lucky coincidence. Shall we?" He gestured for Josiah to go on ahead of him, and as Josiah stumbled out the side door, he could feel Ezra pressing up warm behind him.

And he realized, as his feet hit the pavement, that this actually was his stop. He could see the roof of the ATF building not too far off, and here was the coffee shop where he'd had lunch the day of his last interview. The sun was all the way up now, and he could feel the last of his hangover dissipating with a big breath of mountain air.

He noticed he was still holding Ezra's business card, and he glanced down at it. Then he looked over his shoulder and laughed out loud.

Ezra Standish. Denver ATF.

He thought he just might get to like this town.


End file.
